


got my mind on your body

by stevenstamkos



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: (that would be Taylor), First Dates, Friends With Benefits, Getting Together, M/M, Tampa Bay Lightning, Taylor has commitment issues, emotionally oblivious boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 03:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11455146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevenstamkos/pseuds/stevenstamkos
Summary: “This isn’t like, a date or anything, is it?” Taylor asks.Mitch pauses at the door of the restaurant, turns and looks at him with his head cocked a little, half-smile in place. Mitch is always smiling. It’s one of the things that Taylor likes best about him. “Why, you want it to be?”Taylor tries to say no, but the word gets stuck in his throat.





	got my mind on your body

**Author's Note:**

> We were DMing and Enna said "Big Dick Mitchell Stephens" and...yeah.
> 
> This was partly inspired by the debate I had over whether it's more embarrassing to try and fail at using chopsticks or to go straight for the fork. _That_ was inspired by Mitchell Stephens's insta story during dev camp, of which the only bit I was able to save was [this screenshot](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/DEVYcm6XsAQO33g.jpg) of Taylor. (And yes, Mitch was using a fork)
> 
> Title from "Cool For the Summer" by Demi Lovato

Not to be crude or anything, but Mitch has a huge dick. Hooking up with him tends to mean a pretty good night for Taylor.

This means that Taylor kind of has a habit of hooking up with Mitch? Not that this is unusual behavior for him. Taylor kind of has a habit of hooking up with half the guys in the OHL, and some from the Q or Dub when he’s on the national team. Hell, he’s even gone for Team USA guys, though he won’t admit it to anyone except Tony Cirelli.

(What happened between him and Casey Fitzgerald is...not important.)

The important thing is that Mitch has a really big dick.

“And I need to know this _why?_ ” Tony asks, ripping tape off his socks way more aggressively than the tape deserves.

Taylor shrugs out of his shoulder pads. “It’s good information to have, in case you ever want to.”

“I don’t want Stephens,” Tony says, somehow making it sound like the worst idea in the world, and Taylor takes that as his loss.

He likes it a little better that way anyway.

The point of it is, sex with Mitch is really, really good, and Taylor...well, he kind of sleeps with him. A lot. During the entirety of the Otters-Knights series, that is, all seven games of round two. That amounts to like, two weeks of nonstop _amazing_ sex, which is pretty much everything a teenage boy could ask for.

It’s apparently become a thing. Darren asks him about it. “You’re spending an awful lot of time with Mitchell these days.”

“He’s my friend, and he’s a pretty good fuck, too.”

“Not even gonna try to wheel anyone else? Find a hot someone from London instead tonight?”

“Nope,” Taylor says, and then he’s out the door and headed for Mitch’s billet house.

It's just like. Why have bad sex when there's great sex available? Exactly.

 

Taylor comes to Tampa with both a swagger in his step and an itch under his skin. Last time he was on the ice, it was during the Mem Cup Final. It was _losing_ the Mem Cup Final. So he has a thing or two to prove to himself.

But he also knows that he had a great season in Erie, and he knows the Lightning front office knows that too. This could be his shot at the big leagues next season.

The Bolts have the prospects set up in a pretty sweet hotel for dev camp, and Taylor ends up in a room with Mitch. It’s a nice room, two beds and a TV and a bathroom that comes with a marble tub and great water pressure. Very big and spacey with lots of window for nice ventilation. Or for the Florida sun to cook them slowly throughout the day. That one’s debatable.

Taylor hasn’t properly roomed with Mitch before, only unofficially crashed at his place in London and snuck into his room during World Juniors, but he’s not the type to look a gift horse in the mouth, or whatever that saying is.

So they bone like, three times that first day. It’s really nice.

“Joz says him and Howdy and Tony are grabbing dinner in an hour. You wanna join?” Mitch asks. He’s all stretched out on the bed, naked and easy with it, and Taylor takes a long look. It’s a good view, a really fucking great view.

“Sure,” he says absently.

Mitch smiles at him, just a quirk of his lips, only one side lifting in something that’s more of a smirk than a smile. His eyes are very, very blue. “Great. I’ll text Joz in a bit. Burgers okay?”

“Yeah,” Taylor says, and then, “You wanna go again?”

 

The thing is that Taylor grew up with Mitch, and they’ve been playing together forever. Marlboro boys. That bond doesn’t break.

They’ve always been pretty tight, played minor hockey together and then got drafted apart in the O, to Saginaw and Erie, saw each other around a lot in the league. Knocked each other out of the playoffs a few times (that was always Taylor; Mitch never got far in the playoffs. No hard feelings though). Played together for World Juniors and got drafted to Tampa in separate years.

So they _know_ each other.

Mitch has always liked Taylor a lot, and Taylor thinks Mitch is dope. They get along really well, even when they’re not fucking.

 

Mitch comes out of the shower dripping water all over the hotel carpet, and Taylor is supposed to be looking at memes on his phone, but he is really watching the way Mitch rubs a towel through his darkened hair. Also at the way his ass moves as he paces around looking for clothes. And the way water slides over the cut of his hip, and—

“What’ve you got there?” Mitch asks. He is bent over his suitcase, digging through it, still damp and still naked. This is unfair, Taylor thinks.

His eyes drop back to his phone. He’s not entirely sure what he was just looking at, but he thinks it was supposed to be funny. “Stromer sent me this vine he found earlier.”

“Is it funny?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s Stromer. So it’s pretty good.”

Mitch pulls on a pair of boxers and throws himself onto Taylor’s bed, never minding the fact that he’s still half-wet. His damp hair is right in Taylor’s face as he bends over his phone to look at the screen. He smells like Taylor’s shampoo. It makes something in Taylor feel weird, like squirming in his stomach.

“Holy shit, that’s hilarious,” Mitch says, giggling, at the same time that Taylor says, “Did you use my shampoo?”

They stare at each other for a second before Mitch shrugs. “I forgot mine,” he says carelessly, and it’s just like Mitch to use his roommate’s shampoo without giving a heads up. Mitch is pushy and confident in a way that’s pretty hot, and he knows just what he can get away with.

When it comes to Taylor, it’s a lot.

Then again, most people let Mitch get away with a lot.

“Alright, but you owe me one,” Taylor says, mostly-joking, and Mitch’s smile is more blinding than usual when it’s six inches from his face.

“Yeah, sure. Dinner tomorrow’s on me.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah. What did you want? Not burgers again, probably.”

Taylor opens his mouth and closes it, startled. “Been craving sushi, I guess.”

“High maintenance, but that’s a pretty good choice.” Mitch nods thoughtfully. “Ingy told me he found this cool outdoor sushi place not far from here. We can check it out after practice.”

“Just—Just us?”

“Well I’m not paying for anyone else, so yeah.” He pats Taylor’s thigh, hand lingering on the bare skin near his knee where Taylor’s shorts have ridden up. His eyes are really fucking intense. That’s the sort of look that usually means they have to take another shower soon.

Taylor swallows and drops his eyes, shoves Mitch just to do something, and tells him to get dressed already and comb his hair. “And stop getting water all over my sheets.”

“Dude, I know for a fact that you can deal with a little wet spot.” Mitch’s smile is dirty as he gets up. “But you can always sleep in my bed tonight.”

 

Taylor has been hooking up with Mitch since—oh, must’ve been right after Taylor was drafted to the Otters. Mitch already had a full season in Saginaw then, 17 years old and experienced and cocky with it. They boned in a utility closet in Taylor’s new arena, and Taylor had lost his snapback and ruined his first Erie Otters shirt. (He got many, many more after that, but that first one…)

Since then, they haven’t stopped, not during World Juniors and not when Mitch got traded from Saginaw to London, and that is something that Taylor is perfectly okay with.

They’re not an exclusive thing. This is also something that Taylor is okay with.

At least like, he thinks he’s okay with it? It’s not like he’s ever considered any other option. Normally, he’d talk about stuff that’s on his mind, but Taylor doesn’t talk about his doubts and feelings, because all his friends are useless at this sort of stuff.

“In case you didn’t notice, T, you’re kind of bad at monogamy,” Timpano had said, when Taylor brought up the idea of _something more_.

“Don’t need to be faithful if I don’t have someone to be faithful to,” Taylor had pointed out.

“Yeah, but you don’t even try. You just fuck anyone who can score on me.”

“That’s everyone though. You’re like a sieve. Everything gets through.” Which isn’t really the point, but.

“Now you’re just being rude. Go suck Stromer’s dick so I don’t have to hear you talk.”

“I haven’t ever fucked Dyls, actually,” Taylor had said slowly. “Never thought about it. Huh.” He’d thought for a second, but that was way too weird. “That’s weird,” he’d said. “Dylan is weird. I wish Mitch was in town.”

“Right,” Timpano had said, sounding doubtful. “You’ve been hooking up with him a lot.”

“That’s the thing. I like hooking up with him? I still go out wheeling, but I like him best. Is that weird? He’s good in bed, that’s it, right? I don’t—I don’t _want_ monogamy ever after with Mitchell Stephens, I just want—” He’d run his hands through his hair, frustrated.

Timpano had only frowned and shrugged, like _how am I supposed to know?_

So Taylor had dropped it.

There’s really no one he can talk to about the Problem of Mitchell Stephens. No one except Tony, that is, because Tony is a pretty decent guy to talk to, and pretty smart, and less of an asshole than the normal breed of hockey player. And helpfully, Tony is also in Tampa for dev camp.

 

Tony blinks at him over his chicken and avocado wrap, chewing slowly like it’s the only thing that matters right now. Tony doesn’t take any of Taylor’s bullshit. Taylor always knew that, but he really learned it when Tony got traded to the Otters.

“It’s not like, a date though, is it?” Taylor asks anxiously. “Going out to eat doesn’t mean it’s a date. I’m eating with you right now.”

“We’re having lunch. And I’m not touching dicks with you, unlike Stephens.”

“Why, did you want to touch dicks with me? Cause Mitch said he’d be open to—”

“Don’t even. I have a boyfriend.”

Taylor pauses to absorb that little fact. Huh. “Since when?”

“Since the choice was between a threesome with you and Mitchell Stephens, and having an imaginary boyfriend.”

“We’re not that ugly, and Mitch has a pretty big dick.”

“I know. You told me. Still not interested. Why was your first thought that it's a date anyway?”

Taylor opens his mouth, thinks, and then closes it. He takes a drink of his water. “I don't know. Isn't dinner usually?”

“It’s only a date if one of you makes it a date.”

“Oh god, what if _he_ thinks it’s a date?”

Tony narrows his eyes at him. “Then it’s a date, and one of you clears it up. It’s not a big deal.”

Not a big—Taylor sticks the straw back in his mouth, mostly so he doesn’t say anything stupid.

Tony puts the last bite of his wrap down, which tells Taylor that there is Serious News coming. “Here’s a thought, Sherlock: You’re only freaking out because you _want_ it to be a date.”

Which is just—what? That’s so fucking stupid. Taylor doesn’t do dates like, ever. It’s in the Taylor Raddysh rulebook. Play hard, win games, get dick. Nothing in there about dating. “No I don’t.”

“Yeah you do. You want Stephens to date you up, so you’re here panicking about it.”

“ _How_ does that even make sense?”

“Well, Mitchell offers you dinner in exchange for—what was it, stealing your soap?”

“Shampoo.”

“Okay, shampoo. He gives you the most lousy excuse in the world to offer you dinner. And you start freaking about whether it’s a date. If you didn’t want it to be one, you wouldn’t be thinking about it in the first place.”

Taylor frowns down at his empty plate, at the little crumbs left over from his sandwiches. “I don’t—um.” He falls silent.

“You’re just pining and you’re allergic to feelings so you’re trying way too hard to come off as cool. Suck it up, bro. Touch your feelings.”

“That sounds disgusting when you put it like that.”

“Watching you struggle with your feelings for Mitch is more disgusting, especially when you don’t even know you’re doing it.” Tony shoves the last bite of his lunch into his mouth, chews and swallows and takes a sip of his water when he’s done. “I had to watch you hook up and come giggling home all throughout the London series. That went _seven games_. I had to watch that for seven games, T.”

“I don’t giggle,” Taylor says, feeling put out.

Tony gives him a disbelieving sort of stare. “Why don’t you just ask him if it’s a date then, save yourself all this trouble?”

But who the fuck _asks_ someone if a dinner between teammates equals a date? That’s probably like, on the list of most pathetic things you could do on a possible-date. And unless Taylor really loses his mind sometime between lunch and dinner, there’s no way he’s doing that.

 

“This isn’t like, a date or anything, is it?” Taylor asks.

Mitch pauses at the door of the restaurant, turns and looks at him with his head cocked a little, half-smile in place. Mitch is always smiling. It’s one of the things that Taylor likes best about him. “Why, you want it to be?”

Taylor tries to say no, but the word gets stuck in his throat. He shrugs instead.

“Chill out, bro,” Mitch says, not unkindly, and then he’s walking over to the hostess, who’s leading them to an outdoor table and handing them menus and getting their drinks.

Taylor sits down and pulls a menu toward himself.

It doesn’t—It doesn’t feel like a date?

He’s still wearing the black t-shirt that he wore to practice, and he’s showered and all, but everything feels pretty normal. Except for the bit where Taylor can’t shake the feeling that there’s an undercurrent of...something going on.

Mitch is humming under his breath, off-key and unashamed, and he kicks his feet a little as he reads his menu. Taylor can tell because the table is shaking, just a bit. His hair is combed, getting a bit long, but Mitch has been wearing it pushed back so it doesn’t hang in his eyes.

He closes the menu, gives his order to the waitress, and then Taylor orders. It’s all very normal.

Mitch is staring at him over his glass of water. “Your hair is nice.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Taylor’s hand jumps to the front of his hair, where it’s still lighter than it is naturally. He hadn’t been able to get all the blond out, after the Mem Cup. “Tony hates it.”

“Tony has no taste.”

Tony is the kind of person who would turn down Mitch, so. “He really doesn’t.”

They keep chatting until their food arrives, and it’s easy. It’s like two friends going out for dinner, nothing stressful about that. Mitch is his usual self, and by the time they’re starting to dig in, Taylor has mostly relaxed.

He picks up his chopsticks and struggles with them for a long minute before he manages to pick up his first piece of food. (Sushi is great, but chopsticks are not. Taylor is still going to try though, because he’s not a loser.)

Mitch doesn’t even try with the chopsticks, just picks up his fork and starts stabbing at his eel rolls immediately. He’s definitely having an easier time putting food in his mouth than Taylor is.

“That’s cheating,” Taylor tells him. Mitch’s first plate is already half-empty.

“No it’s not, that’s me knowing my weaknesses.”

“And you should address them.”

“Nah, I’m good with not embarrassing myself today.”

“Really? Using a fork to eat sushi is pretty embarrassing.”

“Not as embarrassing as whatever you’re doing with your chopsticks.”

“Oh come on, trying and failing is definitely less embarrassing than not trying at all.”

“That works for hockey, but it doesn’t work for eating in public.”

“Joz would agree with me,” Taylor says.

“Jozy actually knows how to use chopsticks,” Mitch points out.

Taylor takes that, because it’s true. “You know, everyone thinks you’re so sweet and kind and honest. You’re kind of a dick.”

“Yes, but you love it,” Mitch says around a mouthful of sushi. His cheeks bulge obnoxiously. He chews and swallows before continuing, gesturing to Taylor’s plate with his fork. “You’re falling behind.”

 

They’re seated outdoors, so it’s not exactly hard for the boys to find them.

Joz claps his hands on Taylor’s shoulders, shaking him a little. “Hey, what’s up boys?” he practically shouts in Taylor’s ear. Joz is a very happy, excitable kind of guy.

Howdy is a lot more calm. “Ingy said that you were asking about this place, Mitch, so we figured you were here.”

“Where is Ingy anyway?” Katchouk says.

No one can find Ingram, which takes a couple minutes of confused milling-around. A few guys pull out their phones to text him, wandering a short distance away to give Mitch and Taylor some breathing room.

Howdy stays behind, hovering over them. He says, “You guys mind if we join?”

And Taylor says, “Uh—”

Mitch kicks him under the table. Taylor winces.

“We were just heading out,” Mitch says.

Taylor and Howdy both stare at the half-full plate in front of Taylor, then at the chopsticks held painfully in his hand.

“Me and Mitch were...having a talk,” Taylor says weakly.

Howdy suddenly looks very awkward. “Right uh, we’ll grab another table. Sorry for bothering. Um, enjoy your date.”

He beats a hasty retreat before Taylor can grill him about that last bit.

“Do we really look like we’re on a date?”

Mitch has set his fork down on his napkin. There are a few grains of sticky rice left on his plate, some soy sauce spilled on the corner. He is staring at Taylor. “You know Howdy likes to run his mouth.” As Taylor watches, Mitch licks his lips, and his voice when it comes is quieter. “Would it bother you, if we were?”

Taylor drops his eyes and works on picking up another piece of sushi, and he doesn’t answer.

Mitch waits for a minute before changing the subject.

 

“So why don’t you ever try with the chopsticks?” Taylor asks, as Mitch puts away his debit card and gets up.

“Clumsy hands.”

“You have some of the best hands I’ve ever seen.” On the ice, in bed...

Mitch flashes him a smile in thanks and leads him to the sidewalk. “I don’t know. Sometimes you just have to cut your losses. Like, when you try for a while and things don’t work out no matter how much effort you put into it. Just gotta—” Mitch opens and closes his first two fingers a few times, mimicking a pair of scissors cutting something.

“That’s fucking deep, bud.”

“Yeah. That’s what you said last night, too.”

He’s deflecting for some reason. Taylor can be pushy too, though.

“I’m honest in the sack. And you’re usually more honest, too. You’re not the type to give up.”

“I’m not.” Mitch’s shoulders are relaxed as he walks, but his voice is too careful. “Anyway, the whole giving up and cutting my losses thing is what I’ve been trying to tell myself. I’m not really good at it though, I think.”

Taylor knows that he’s not the best at subtext, but Mitch isn’t the best at being subtle. “You’re not talking about chopsticks anymore, are you.”

“I gave up on chopsticks a while ago.”

“But you’re not good at cutting your losses when it comes to something else.”

They’re hanging out on a street corner, waiting for the light to turn, and Mitch looks up at Taylor. A strand of hair had worked itself free during their walk and is hanging in Mitch’s face. “Why’d you freak out so much about whether or not tonight was a date?”

Taylor sucks in a surprised breath through his nose. “I just wanted to know.”

“Cause I’m thinking, either you really, really don’t want it to be a date, or you really, really do. I just can’t figure out which one it is.”

His eyes are so fucking blue, like the color of the Tampa sky.

“I know we’ve been hooking up and stuff forever, Raddy, and we don’t have to change that if you don’t want to. But I kind of need to know where your boundaries are. Especially if we’re gonna be playing together in Syracuse or here soon.”

“Was this like, a test-run?”

“Kind of? It was whatever you wanted it to be.”

“But you wanted it to be a date.” Mitch nods. “I don’t date people,” Taylor says slowly.

Mitch looks away. “Okay.” He sighs a little. “Okay.”

The light turns again, from the walk sign to the hand, and they’re still on the same corner.

“I just don’t—I don’t think I’d be very good at it,” Taylor adds, because he—Fuck, he hates seeing Mitch upset, even though Mitch is holding it back pretty well. “Timpano was right, I wouldn’t be a good boyfriend. I mean, I never really tried, but.”

“I’m not asking you to marry me,” Mitch says, deadpan.

Taylor laughs a little, mostly because the idea of marriage is terrifying right now. “Okay, true. What are we supposed to do then?”

“I mean, we like to hang out, and today was okay, grabbing dinner together. And we like the same kinds of things, mostly, and we know a lot about each other, and there’s awesome sex, and I like you.”

Taylor thinks. All those things are true about Mitch too. He _does_ like hanging out with Mitch, and cuddling with Mitch, and playing on the same ice as Mitch, and coming back to their room to have sex with Mitch. And waking up to Mitch snoring in the crook of his neck, and smelling his shampoo in Mitch’s hair, and—

“I’m—fuck,” he mutters.

“We don’t have to,” Mitch says patiently. “And we can always like, break up? If you don’t like it.”

Yeah, okay, that doesn’t sound too bad.

“You’re gonna have to tell me if it’s a date though, next time.”

“Okay, fine.” Mitch grabs Taylor’s hand, squeezing a little. “How about next time we’re in the same area with a working kitchen, say, when we get back to Toronto, I cook dinner for us. As a _date_. And then we can decide from there.”

That’s actually a pretty good idea. Taylor has seen Mitch’s snaps, always cooking. Mitch’s cooking is famous in the OHL.

“Yeah, okay. That’s good, I’m good with that.”

He smiles at Mitch, and Mitch smiles back for a long moment. It feels kind of sappy.

“So we should cross the street,” Mitch finally says, and shoves Taylor off the sidewalk.

Mitch is definitely a littler guy than Taylor, but he's pushy as hell, and Taylor kind of likes that. Kind of likes a lot of things about Mitch, since he's being honest tonight. Liking Mitch might become a recurring theme in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> "Well there was that one drunken night in Saginaw with Vic," Mitch says thoughtfully. "Victor Mete, I mean. That was before he got serious with Cliff—"
> 
> "Nah, I did Mete and Pu together last season."
> 
> Mitch looks impressed. "Together? Wow." He runs his tongue over his teeth. "There was Vilardi? In round one, when we played the Spits. We got off in a closet in Budweiser Gardens."
> 
> Taylor thinks for a second. "No, I did Vilardi too, I think. It was a while ago though, it all sort of blurs together."
> 
> "Hmm. I don't know, I didn't hook up with too many guys this season. Too busy. Mikey stopped when he got together with Nate, Mikey DiPietro turned me down, everyone sleeps with Barzal..."
> 
> "Hey, you were on a line with Thomas and Kuokkanen, right? You ever hook up with either of them?"
> 
> "I don't fuck with line chemistry. You did, though, didn't you."
> 
> "Nah, I left your lineys alone. I did bang your captain though."
> 
> "God, JJ isn't really my type. Um, I hooked up with Tyler a few times. He's real bendy. Goalie, you know."
> 
> "Holy shit, you mean Parsons?" Taylor sits up. "Holy fucking shit, Mitch, that's treason against Canada."
> 
> "Hey, I had a lot of aggression to work off from World Juniors."


End file.
